


Back to the Beginning

by goldarrow



Series: Animal Clan AU [5]
Category: Primeval
Genre: Timey-Wimey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 02:17:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20400046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldarrow/pseuds/goldarrow
Summary: Through trials and tribulations, Stephen and Nick make their way home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The original Ryan, Lester, Lorraine, Connor, Abby, Becker, and Christine belong to Impossible Pictures.   
Lyle and Blade belong to fredbassett, who kindly lends them out.
> 
> Disclaimer: Anyone and anything recognisable as from Primeval belongs to Impossible Pictures.   
I mean no harm, I make no profit except satisfaction. I promise to return everyone in pristine condition once I’m done with them.
> 
> A/N: There is an off-screen rape and torture, but only the aftermath is shown.

Cutter woke with a start, for a moment not remembering where he was. His head felt thick, every thought in his brain apparently having to wade its way through treacle to connect with the next. Then memories gradually started filtering through. He and Stephen had gone through that odd glowing portal, it had closed behind them, and when it opened again and they’d run back through it, they’d ended up in this place instead of their home. Before they could react to the strangeness, they’d been captured by bird-masked warriors, a band who called themselves the Avian Clan, and taken to their village.

He was lying in the bed he’d been escorted to in the Clan’s home structure. But there was something different, even to his foggy eyes. Blinking slowly, he looked blearily around the room, wondering what that was. Then a jolt of adrenalin woke him properly. There was something different, all right: Stephen was gone. The bed next to the fire was empty. Reaching over, he felt the blanket. It was cold. Shaking his head to finish clearing it, he sat up. He was alone, Stephen had been taken away, and he hadn't even known it was happening. They must have been drugged. Damn it. 

Forcing his legs to hold him, he stood shakily and started to make his way painfully over toward the door, but before he got halfway across the room the door opened and Stephen walked in. The masked man who had been escorting him stopped just outside the door, nodded at them, and Cutter heard him walk away.

Cutter stared searchingly at Stephen, finding no apparent signs of mistreatment, and Stephen smiled.

"I'm fine, Nick," he said cheerfully. "They just wanted to talk. They're an interesting bunch."

Nick. Stephen had never called him Nick. He was always Professor, or Cutter. And in the entire year that Cutter had known him, Stephen had never sounded actually cheerful. Amused, occasionally. Happy, rarely. Cheerful, never. Damn it. They'd obviously done something to him. But what?

"Come on, sleepyhead. It's already afternoon and they said we're free to wander round, so long as we don't go out into the Avian Valley without an armed escort. They told me that the Feline Clan has been raiding recently, and we could be in danger outside the main town centre."

Cutter nodded carefully. The names and titles were tripping off Stephen's tongue just a little too smoothly for his peace of mind, but his head still felt thick and he hoped that some fresh air might help. After a quick side-trip for a pee in what to Cutter was a surprisingly modern loo considering the rather bucolic nature of the society, the two men spent the afternoon wandering around, occasionally talking to people they saw farming or tending to the herds of cattle and sheep. All of them had their faces open to the sun and breezes, and Cutter finally asked their escort, the young man wearing the Owl mask, about it.

The young man shrugged. "We're Avian Clan," he said simply, his voice having the same slightly odd timbre that Cutter had noticed yesterday and thought was an accent. Now he wasn't so sure.

"And these people are not?" Cutter asked. 

"That's right," the young man responded. "They're under our protection, but they're not fighters."

"I see," Cutter said thoughtfully. "Do they ever become fighters?"

The Owl mask moved back and forth in a slow negative. "They till, we fight."

"I see," Cutter repeated, and he did. Separate people, separate lives. One group who would spend their entire lives working the land under the authority of whichever Clan was in power, and the other group spending their lives in battle.

After that revelation he rather lost interest in further explorations. The place was fascinating from an anthropological standpoint, but researching customs and seeing the actual, sometimes painful, real-life results of them were two entirely different things. It didn't help his mood that Stephen remained unfailingly cheerful throughout, none of the disclosures seeming to affect him at all.

When they arrived back to their room at the Clan building that evening, there was another stew awaiting them. Stephen served Cutter a large portion, and the Scotsman ate it without protest. But what Stephen didn't know, and Cutter kept very quiet about, was that when he went to the lavatory after the meal, he made sure that he got rid of as much of it as he still could. However, in spite of the purge, about half an hour after eating he started feeling a little drowsy. They had been drugged again. Faking more sleepiness than he was actually experiencing, he suggested an early night. Stephen acquiesced, yawning himself, and they tumbled into the beds.

Cutter lay there for a while, counting Stephen's breaths. When they deepened and slowed into the rhythm of true slumber - or rather drugged slumber, since Stephen had eaten as much as Cutter had - he slid out of bed, dressed as quietly as he could, and sneaked out the door. As he had hoped, there was no guard, the Clan obviously having relied upon their sleeping potion to keep the strangers under control.

He crept down the corridor, following the sound of voices to an archway that was covered with a curtain on the other side. Sticking his head cautiously through the arch, he noted that the curtain seemed to cover half the wall on the right hand side. He slid slowly along the wall, making sure he did not either bulge the curtain out or show the toes of his boots under it, either one of which would put paid immediately, and embarrassingly, to his little spying sortie. When he reached what he considered to be a far enough distance from the archway that he wouldn't be seen if anyone poked their head through like he did, he stopped and listened. And got an earful.

"Well, Connor, what do you think?" That sounded like the Eagle's voice, without the odd accent that he was now confirming had definitely been caused by the distortion of the mask.

Connor responded, again sounding familiar. From his words, Cutter inferred that he was the Owl, their guide - or guard - of the day.

"It's hard to tell, sir. Ryan. This Cutter is very like our own was before his death last year, but not exactly. He is definitely intelligent, but doesn't seem to think much of our ways. His land must be very different."

"Does he suspect anything?" A strange woman's voice. Cutter wondered if she was the silent Hawk of their group.

"Again, it's hard to tell, Lorraine," Connor repeated. "He never said anything that made me think he knows of the substitution, but he did watch Stephen very carefully. I caught a few calculating glances, but they might have been general suspicions of us rather than specific suspicions of Raven."

"Either way, it's a potential problem," the one named Ryan said quietly. "If we're to gain enough intelligence about this Cutter's world to enable an invasion, then our Raven, our Stephen, must be able to cross over to this Cutter's home world without exciting undue interest. He must fit in well enough to spend some days there without being exposed.” 

Cutter heard the rustle of papers and the susurration of a sigh. “So far, we know that people are duplicated between worlds. We know that our Nick is dead and this other one lives. However, Stephen Hart is the only one of us that we know for sure exists both here and there. He is the only one of us who stands a chance of stepping into the life of his doppelgänger and learning what we need to know."

Cutter was hard pressed not to gasp, curse, or generally break out of hiding and attack those people. The Stephen that he'd spent the day with wasn't really Stephen! Bloody hell, they hadn't done something to make him different, he was different. Where was his Stephen, and what had they done with him? And on a less personal though no less important note, this fucking planned invasion simply had to be stopped! 

"So, Lorraine, tomorrow morning, early, I want you to go to the Stone House and question that other Stephen again. We need to know exactly what is wrong with Raven's performance. We believe he's duplicating that other Stephen's mannerisms perfectly. Find out if there's something we're missing." His voice trailed off for a moment, then came back stronger than before. “You have my official authority to do whatever is required in order to ascertain his true character. Don't bother with conversation again, after last night he won't believe any overtures of friendliness. Try simple physical coercion one more time. If that doesn’t work, give him to the Grinder.”

At those words, Cutter almost lost what little control he’d managed to hang onto through the prior conversation. No matter what problems he had with Stephen, no matter how much he wanted the man to suffer for his transgression - even though Cutter himself was almost willing to admit that Helen was even more at fault than Stephen - he didn't deserve whatever it seemed these people had in mind for him. 

"Sir," the woman replied evenly as someone else in the room gasped, and Cutter heard the sound of her boot heels striking the floor as she left the room through another door he couldn't see.

"And me?" the one called Connor asked, his voice a little shaky. Cutter inferred that it was he who had gasped at the mention of the ‘Grinder’.

"Continue your surveillance in the morning. Play the youngster for all you're worth. Keep Cutter occupied. I don't want him concentrating too much on ‘Stephen’ until we know for sure what, if anything, is wrong with Raven's portrayal."

"Will do." 

The young man followed the woman from the room through the same door. The Eagle puttered around for a few minutes then also exited, leaving Cutter, horrified, to take a few minutes to collect himself before sneaking out and back to what he now believed was more prison cell than guest quarters.

He paced quietly around the room for a while before the hangings on the far wall caught his attention. Remembering the curtains in the meeting room, he peered between the hangings and the wall. Sure enough, there was an opening there. Grabbing both his pack and Stephen's, he slinked down the passageway revealed through the archway until it ended after a considerable distance at a bolted door. He set the packs beside the door and carefully pulled back the bolts. They moved silently, if rather stiffly. Opening the door a crack, he peered through and saw that he was outside the main building, on the side close to the nearest tilled field. Picking up the packs again, he slipped through the door and headed out. 

He had no idea where Stephen was being held, but all he could do was hope he could get far enough up the side of the cliff that bounded the valley so that he would not be found himself, but would still be able to catch sight of the Hawk when she left for the Stone House so he could then follow her to Stephen. 

He sneaked past the guards set at the entrance to the valley, clambering above them and finding what he thought might be a place that was both safe enough and with enough visibility of the roads to watch for the Hawk. Settling in, he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and then, with his eyes still scrunched shut, scrubbed his scalp with stiff fingers in an attempt to keep himself awake. Having lost his dinner he was hungry and he was thirsty for the same reason, and he was definitely exhausted after a day of moving about on little food. That was the excuse he gave himself afterwards, when he peeled his bleary eyes open again only to look straight down the barrel of one of the odd weapons of this world.

Freezing, he stared at it and cursed himself for his distraction, then slowly raised his eyes, expecting to see the mask of the Eagle. He saw a mask, all right, but it wasn't an Eagle. Damn, damn, damn. He was in even more trouble now. Mentally apologising to Stephen for his carelessness, he looked straight into the dark eyes behind the Panther mask worn by the man wearing a deep forest-green uniform. To make it worse, he stood in the van of a small band who were also masked, though their uniforms were a slightly lighter green. 

It would seem he was now a prisoner of the Feline Clan. Out of the frying pan and straight into the fire.

"Now, this is rather interesting," the drawling voice stated smoothly. "An unmasked one, acting as a spy on a Clan. Are you from another Clan, by any chance? Perhaps Canine Clan? Or possibly you’re exiled Avian and are hoping to regain your place."

Cutter sighed. "None of the above," he said honestly. “I'm from a world beyond the portal, and they have a friend of mine prisoner. I was trying to follow their agent to where they’re holding him."

"And once you have found where they are holding him, then you intend to do what, exactly?" The voice managed to convey a sneer even through the warping caused by the mask. "You have no weapon, and you obviously have no battle skills. If you were a member of my Clan, you would have been whipped for your lack of alertness. All in all, it seems that you are as useless as a field tiller."

Cutter grabbed his temper by its metaphorical throat and wrestled it into submission. It wouldn't do either him or Stephen any good for him to get himself killed by lashing out at this infuriating man.

"Perhaps I am useless in this world," he responded, unable to keep a little bit of sarcasm from seeping into his tone, "but they have my student at a place called the Stone House, and I won't leave him to his fate, no matter the cost to me."

"The Stone House?" That was the Lion, speaking quickly and with what to Cutter’s ears sounded like excitement. "James, if we can find that. . ."

"Indeed, Jon. That would make this sortie of great value, and this man, by extension extremely valuable also." The Panther turned back to Cutter. "What Mask is the agent, do you know?"

"Hawk," Cutter replied, mentally crossing his fingers that he was correct in his guess as to the wearer of that mask.

"Very well. You will come with us. Maitland, Becker, when the Hawk shows, track him-”

“Her”, Cutter interrupted.

“-her from a distance. Do not be seen. When you find their Stone House, report back immediately." 

The diminutive Tiger and the athletic-looking Leopard nodded and melted into the trees, almost without sound. 

The Panther watched them until they were out of sight, then spoke to Cutter without looking at him. "They hold some of our people prisoner in their Stone House, as we hold some of theirs in ours. Usually, we make a trade in the end, but if we can rescue our people without giving up any of theirs, then that is to our advantage.” He continued to stare out over the hills, his attention seeming to be pointed inward rather than where his eyes looked. His voice dropped. “The location of a Clan’s Stone House is its most closely guarded secret. We have never been able to find theirs, in spite of many years of searching. By giving us this information you have proven your worth, and have earned our assistance in return. My Clan will bring us news when they have it."

The Panther strode off, and the Lion nudged Cutter to follow. The Scotsman sighed, picked up the packs again, and trudged along behind the other men. He had to believe he was better off having the backing of a rival Clan in finding and freeing Stephen. He had no idea what he’d do if this didn’t pan out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen is rescued

After what ended up being not much more than a nap to use up what was left of the night, Cutter was out of his bed early the next morning. He moved into the common area of the Feline Clan house and sat beside the fire, forcing himself to remain still, waiting, when he wanted to be up and about, searching for Stephen himself. He stared at his hands, going through everything in his mind that might go wrong with the plan, wondering if he was doing the right thing by leaving Stephen’s rescue to these people whom he didn’t know. Strangers, with strange ways and possibly strange motivations. 

He hadn’t actually been sitting there, going through the same thoughts and worries over and over, for as long as he thought he had when the main doors opened and the Tiger and the Leopard entered the house, stomping mud from their boots and removing their masks. After setting the masks on the rack beside the main door, they crossed the room to warm themselves at the fire beside Cutter.

“Cutter,” Maitland said, an expression of understanding warming her bright blue eyes, gamine smile lighting her heart-shaped face. “We found the Stone House, and Lester's not one to sit around when there's work to be done. I'm pretty sure we’ll be setting out on a raid within an hour.”

Cutter wondered vaguely how someone so petite managed to hold her own as a warrior, although she did seem to have the complete respect of the much larger Becker. “Thank you,” he said softly. Looking around, he found what looked like it might be an urn of tea, so he poured three cups and sniffed one. Tea, all right. Catching sight of the usual condiments, he held two cups up. “Milk, sugar?”

Maitland and Becker both nodded. “Both, please,” Becker replied, running his hands through his hair to tame it. “One.” 

Cutter added the requested flavourings and took the cups over to the Feline Clan members. “Thank you,” he said again. “I’ve known Stephen for over a year. He’s a good man.” He managed to get the words out without choking on them. He really did think that Stephen was good underneath the foolish surface. Not that he had managed to completely forgive the young man for his affair with Helen, no, but he also didn’t think that Stephen deserved to be tortured. And that ‘Grinder’ and young Connor’s reaction to the word made him sure that torture was going to be involved in Stephen’s near future if they didn’t manage to get to him first. 

Lester, sans his Panther mask, entered the room at a brisk pace with Jon, the man under the Lion, at his shoulder. They took seats at the table and Lester nodded for Maitland and Becker to join him. Cutter sat on a bench at the side of the room, watching as the Clan leader took Maitland’s report, with additions as necessary by Becker, and they worked out a basic plan for the raid. Lester wasn’t the largest of the men in the room, but whichever Clan member he pointed his sharp features and even sharper gaze at certainly showed complete deference to his opinions.

Once Lester and his people had finalised their preparations for the raid, Cutter stood and stated simply, “I want to come along.”

Lester merely raised an eyebrow. “What exactly do you think you can do?” he asked languidly, leaning back in his chair at the head of the large table.

“Not for the fight,” Cutter admitted grudgingly. “But for Stephen. He won’t know you. And if he’s been mistreated he’s not going to trust you. If I’m there, it will make getting him out easier.”

Rubbing his chin, Lester eyed him calculatingly. “Very well. You will remain out of range of any weaponry until all fighting is complete. When we’re done, then you can come in.”

Cutter nodded, relieved enough that he was being allowed to come along that he was willing to overlook the slight tinge of condescension. “That sounds sensible,” he said. “I know nothing about your weapons, and as much as I hate to admit it, I’d be a liability to you.” He stared straight into Lester’s dark eyes. “Once you’re in, though, I’m there.”

“Very well.” Lester slapped the table. “Arm yourselves, call in all duty Clan except the valley guards." He nodded at Jon. "Lyle, we leave in half an hour.”

Exactly half an hour later, Cutter stared around, fascinated. At the Avian Valley, he’d only seen the four fighters. And up to this moment, he’d only seen the four Felines. But now, here in front of him were not only the Panther, the Lion, the Tiger and the Leopard he’d already met, but also a Cheetah, a Cougar, a Jaguar, an Ocelot, a Bobcat, a Lynx, and what he thought might even be a Caracal. The quality of the artistry employed in the carving of the masks was amazing. The feline features were exact, each breed unique and easily recognisable in both form and colouration.

They headed out, the Clan members fully armed. The Tiger and Leopard led, with the Panther following right behind. After him were the lesser cats, and the Lion at the rear acting as guard for Cutter himself. They walked quickly, moving steadily but silently through the forest. They weren’t following an open path nor any trail that Cutter could see, but the Tiger and the Leopard didn’t hesitate at any time, moving as sure-footedly as Stephen when he was on the track of an injured creature. Cutter breathed slowly and deeply, doing his best to keep up with the fighters of the Feline Clan without giving away their location by panting too loudly or stumbling over the roots, fallen branches and stones that seemed to be doing their best to trip him up.

It took a little over two hours to make it across the hills to the clearing where the Tiger and Leopard signalled for a stop. After waiting for the scouts to creep like wraiths over the hill and return again, having verified that the guard setup remained the same as it had been on their last visit, the fighting Clan gathered around their leader to receive their final orders.

The Panther turned to Cutter. “We must leave you alone for a few minutes,” he said. “Do try to avoid being taken prisoner by any fleeing Birdbrains.”

Cutter growled under his breath. “Then leave me something I can use as a club.” 

The Panther made a sound that was perilously close to a snort. “Lyle, give him your mace.”

Cutter wasn’t sure how he knew that the Lion was grinning lazily behind his mask as he handed over the club, but he was willing to accept the slight derision if it garnered him a weapon. Taking the club in his hand, Cutter hefted it to test the balance and weight, then nodded and backed into a small recess formed by the boles of three trees that had grown very close together. No one could sneak up on him from behind or either side, but he still had room to slide out around the edge if he was cornered.

Nodding approvingly, the Panther gestured for his team to move out. “We’ll be back soon.” They disappeared over the crest of the hill, leaving Cutter alone.

He waited. And waited some more. From this distance, he could hear only a few yells and thuds, and an occasional cracking sound that he thought might be from the barrelled weapons they carried. He was teetering on the edge of extreme impatience, about to fall over the cliff into total disobedience of the Panther’s order to stay, when the Caracal slid into view and silently motioned for him to follow. He emerged as quickly as he could and trotted behind the silent Clanswoman over the hill, down into a small dell and across a short bridge spanning a moat that surrounded what to his eyes was an extremely depressing building. 

Dark, dirty stones were piled on each other with brown clay holding them in place, tiny windows dotting the sides every few metres like black pustules. He shuddered at what the place must seem like inside. The outside was bleak and featureless; even the door was made of some type of ebon wood, hard and ominous. 

The door opened with a creak as they came close, and Cutter was nodded through by the Lynx. The Caracal remained outside, mask turning from side to side in watchful alertness as Cutter entered into a small dark vestibule that was lined with shelving on all four walls. The Panther stood there, eyes narrow and glittering like obsidian behind the holes in his mask as Cutter walked across the room to face him.

“Cutter, your friend is in the room at the back. I suggest you go to him as quickly as you can. He is not very we-“ The Panther’s eyes widened and brightened suddenly as he swept an arm across in front of him, catching Cutter and tossing him to the side. His other hand swept up, hand held in front of his mask like a shield. 

Lying in the corner, head spinning, Cutter watched uncertainly as a woman in a Falcon mask and a long blue robe stepped out from behind the shelving on the side wall, holding what could only have been a wand of some kind. Between the end of the wand and the Panther’s palm the air was shimmering like heat waves in the desert. The Falcon paced forward slowly, swinging the wand back and forth in an arc at the level of her face. The ripple in the air intensified and turned slightly blue as her eyes narrowed behind her mask.

The Panther stepped back, giving ground reluctant pace by reluctant pace as the Falcon moved toward him. Cutter could see his shoulders tighten in return as he brought his other hand up again, twining the fingers of both hands together in a complicated pattern. His jaw and throat moved as if he was speaking although no words could be heard, and Cutter gasped as the ripple in the air reversed direction and changed to a pale green.

The Falcon shuddered and started waving her wand faster, the new motion looking like it might contain a slight pattern rather than being simply an arc. The ripple slowed and paled, hesitating as if about to change direction and colour again. The Panther pushed his hands forward, the silent chant now a low mutter, although one in which Cutter still couldn’t make out any words. The Panther added a side to side sway of his laced fingers, their movement matching the Falcon’s wand pattern perfectly. The ripple sped up, the colour deepening to a forest green, and the Falcon staggered.

She shrieked shrilly, sounding like the bird whose visage she wore to hide her own, and threw the wand directly at the Panther’s face. He ripped his fingers apart, and with a single shouted word slapped the wand aside with one hand, and as it shattered against the wall opposite Cutter, she shrieked again. The Panther stepped forward and held his other hand toward her, fingers extended. His chant was now fully audible, the language not one that Cutter had ever heard before. When the Panther curled his fingers in as if squeezing a sponge the Falcon raised her arms shakily to her head and began to gasp as if she were trying to breathe through a pillow placed over her face. When the Panther's hand became a tight fist, the Falcon went limp and collapsed to the floor like a marionette with the strings cut.

The rest of the Feline Clan, who had all been hanging back as the Falcon and their Panther battled, rushed forward in two groups, one to grab the Falcon’s body and pull it from the room, and the other to brace the Panther slowly to the floor as his knees weakened and folded. Cutter could see him panting as if he’d run a marathon. Perhaps, in a way, he had.

Cutter clambered shakily to his feet and stepped slowly over to the Panther as he sat on the floor and leaned on the Lion’s shoulder, drinking from a flask in his lieutenant’s hand.

“Thank you,” Cutter said, kneeling beside them. “I think you just saved my life.”

The Panther shook his head. “Not your life,” he said between sips, his voice sounding as rusty as if he hadn’t used it in years. “Your mind. She wanted to take you over and use you to distract us.” 

Cutter shuddered. “Is that what they did to Stephen?” he asked shakily.

The Lion shook his head. “No. If they’d done that he’d be nothing but a hollow shell and he’d be useless to get any information from. A mindless one has no intelligence left; it merely attacks the closest person. She most likely just wanted you to slow down Lester so she could get away.”

“So you knew what she was trying to do?”

“Of course,” the Panther replied, his voice firming. “The pattern, colour and chant involved in creating that spell is unmistakable. Unfortunately for her, once it has been begun, it cannot be aborted without severe repercussions. And if turned back on its maker, it can be fatal.” He stood, seemingly having regained most of his strength, albeit still displaying a slight trace of wobbliness. “We need to finish freeing our people and your Stephen and get out of here. The backlash from that battle will have been felt by any Sensitive in the area.”

The Tiger slid into the room. “There are a few Canines, and even a couple of Ursines in the cells. What should we do with them?”

Lester hummed thoughtfully, then nodded. “Release them upon receiving their parole for all except Avian Clan until they reach their homes. If they fight anyone, we want it to be stray Avians, not us or each other.”

“Right.” The Tiger disappeared as rapidly and silently as she’d entered.

The Panther turned to Cutter again. “Come with me, Cutter. We need you to convince your friend that we’re trying to help.” He stopped and those dark eyes focussed on Cutter like laser beams. “He’s been mistreated badly, both physically and Niall says sexually. We need to get him back to the Valley so we can take care of him.”

Cutter sighed and rubbed his eyes. ‘Mistreated’ wasn’t the word he would use to describe sexual abuse. Bloody hell. He could feel the guilt rising higher than his head. If he hadn’t insisted on going through the portal to find out where Helen had come from, Stephen wouldn’t have been taken prisoner, and wouldn’t have been tortured. Damn it. Bracing himself, he followed the Panther out of the room and down the dank corridor to the narrow door at the end, the Ocelot trailing him.

Entering the room slowly, he strained his eyes in the dim light. “Stephen? Are you there? It’s Nick Cutter. I’m here to take you away from this place.” 

A slight movement and a flash of pale skin in the darkness at the far corner of the room allowed him to locate his student. A pained, stifled gasp echoed in his ears from the huddled body as he took a step toward the corner. As his eyes became accustomed to the lack of light, he gasped also. Stephen was curled up, naked, his body, arms, and legs patterned with livid bruises and streaked with dried blood.

“Oh, bloody hell, Stephen,” Cutter whispered, appalled. “I’m sorry. So sorry. These people are enemies of those who hurt you. They're friendly to us. I trust them to help. Will you trust me?”

Stephen kept his eyes closed, shrinking into the corner with a hint of a moan. Cutter sat down on the floor, almost close enough to touch him, and kept talking quietly. He knew he had a reputation for having a quick temper and little patience, but this time he’d better not live down to it. Not if he wanted Stephen to come out of this in one piece.

Cutter slid a little closer and Stephen shuddered but didn’t shrink any farther back. Holding out a hand, moving as slowly as he could, Cutter gently stroked Stephen’s shoulder, ignoring the quick terrified-sounding pants that resulted. 

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Cutter whispered. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. We’re going to be fine. Let us help, Stephen. Please, let us help.”

Stephen opened his eyes and examined the man standing behind Cutter distrustfully out of the corners of them. After a few moments, when the Ocelot didn’t flinch under his regard, he finally relaxed enough to be able to move and bit by bit reached out to place his hand on Cutter’s arm in return. Cutter closed his eyes and breathed out in relief, taking Stephen’s hand gently in his own. 

“Ocelot,” he said, keeping his voice low and even, “will you hand me the blanket so Stephen can cover himself?”

A hand moved past his shoulder holding a soft blanket, slowly enough that Stephen simply watched suspiciously instead of cringing. “We have a few litters set up outside,” the young male voice said. “There are two Felines who are unable to walk as well.” He squatted down beside Cutter, facing Stephen, and pushed up his mask so his face with its bright green eyes could be seen. “Stephen, will you let us help you to the litter so we can get you back to our Valley to heal?”

Stephen cut his eyes over to Cutter and the professor nodded in agreement. After a moment’s thought, Stephen bent forward and allowed Cutter and the Ocelot to wrap him in the soft material and lift him to his feet. Cutter took most of his weight, encouraging Stephen to lean on him as they tottered down the corridor and out the front door to stand in the clearing, Stephen pulling in almost sobbing breaths as he stared around at freedom.

The Lion turned quickly enough that Stephen jumped in Cutter’s arms, and the professor frowned and shook his head. The Lion nodded and stepped back so Cutter and the Ocelot could manoeuvre Stephen onto the litter and tuck him in safely.

“I’ll stay right beside you,” Cutter whispered as Stephen’s eyes widened in fear when the front of the litter rose, held in the strong hands of the Leopard.

They moved slowly but steadily back along the same route they’d taken to reach the Avian Clan's Stone House. The two hour trip out took almost four on the return, since those prisoners who weren’t damaged enough to require litters were still unable to move quickly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Panther makes an offer.

Cutter supervised as the Ocelot and the Caracal, now revealed as Clan members named Niall and Amy, assisted Stephen to rise and totter to the bed closest to the fire in a small room off the main gathering area. They nodded at Cutter and left the men alone, Amy telling them that Lester would be in to heal Stephen as soon as he could, but he was rather tired from the battle and it might be a while.

Holding Cutter’s hand tightly, Stephen dropped into a restless sleep. Once he was out, Cutter gently removed his hand and pulled the other bed close. Stretching out on it, he reached out and took Stephen’s hand again, giving the other man something to cling to.

The next morning, Cutter yawned his way awake, fingers still entwined with Stephen’s, the other man’s grasp almost frantic even in sleep. Scrubbing his face with his free hand, Cutter glanced around the room blearily. Once his gaze made it to the door, he woke fully and rather abruptly, seeing the Lester was standing in the opening with his arms crossed and a slight smile on his sharp-featured face.

“It’s good that he has someone who cares,” Lester said. “I can heal his body, but I’m afraid his mind and spirit might be beyond my capabilities.”

Cutter sat up, gently disengaging his hand from Stephen’s. The younger man muttered and curled up a little tighter on his mattress as Cutter kept an eye on him. When Stephen didn’t wake, he nodded and climbed quietly out of bed and walked over to speak softly to Lester.

“How long will it take?” Cutter asked. “What will you do?”

Lester waved for him to come out of the room so their voices wouldn’t disturb Stephen. “I will use the Talent to heal him, as I used it to take down Christine.”

Cutter cocked his head, confused for a moment. “Christine?” Then the penny dropped. “The Falcon? You know - knew - her?”

Lester nodded. “We were friends, a long time ago. Before this latest round of enmity flared up.”

“Does it happen often?” Cutter asked quietly. “This fighting between the Clans?”

“No,” Lester replied wearily. “About every eight or ten years, the youngsters start trying things on. If one manages to make enough trouble, then we battle until one clan dominates at the annual Council for a few years and there is an uneasy peace. Last time, it was the Avian Clan who came out on top."

He eyed Cutter, who nodded his understanding. Cliques and their associated manoeuvring were nothing strange to him. But at least in his experience at CMU they weren't quite so violent.

Lester continued, "Their leader, Ryan, is a good man. I’m not so sure about some of his followers, though. Christine has always been a bit of a wild card. She’s been angling for leadership of the Avian Clan for about two years now, doing her best to undermine Ryan. That’s one of the reasons our friendship dissolved."

Cutter eyed him, wondering why he was being told these things. Lester's next words cleared the air, and Cutter cursed under his breath.

"The Crow, her friend Wilder, is a vicious bastard. They call him the Grinder.” Lester leaned against the wall and nodded. “Based on Stephen’s injuries, I would say that she set Wilder on him. His injuries are most likely not life-threatening, but they will be extremely painful.” Pushing himself upright, he straightened his shoulders. “I saw burns, cuts, and the marks of fists. And since it was Wilder, your friend will have been raped, with the associated damage resulting from that. So, it is time to help.”

“What do you need me to do?” Cutter asked.

Lester sighed. “Wake him up, take him over to the chair by the fire. Unclothed. You may remain beside him, but do not touch him. My spell will be tuned specifically to his injuries and his metabolism.”

“Right. Give me a couple of minutes.”

“You have five. It will take me that long to prepare.” Lester nodded and walked away.

Taking a deep breath, Cutter re-entered the room and made his way across to Stephen, who had moved enough that the blanket had fallen down to his waist. Standing and simply looking for a minute, Cutter took in the bruises and streaks of dry blood that still marred Stephen’s fine features, slender neck and wide, spare shoulders. He again had to fight his feelings of guilt. Finally, he gathered his courage and reached out to place his hand beside Stephen’s on the mattress, close enough to feel the heat of his skin but not close enough to touch and perhaps frighten him. 

“Stephen,” he said softly. “Stephen, wake up. The healer needs to help you.”

Stephen’s eyelids tightened and he frowned in his sleep, his hand closing into a fist and then opening again.

“Stephen,” Cutter repeated, slightly louder. “Stephen, wake up. Stephen.”

Something in Cutter’s tone broke through Stephen’s fog of sleep, and he opened his eyes, blinking like a cat in sunlight, until his memories visibly flooded back in and he cringed back from Cutter, almost falling off the other side of the bed.

Cutter resisted his desire to reach out and catch his student, to help him. “It’s okay, Stephen, you’re safe. I know you’re hurting, but Lester can help you with that. We need to get you into the chair. He can help you there.”

Stephen eyed him suspiciously, but allowed Cutter to very carefully help him to his feet. He tried to pull the blanket with him, but Cutter gently took it from his hands and set it back on the bed.

“Sorry, Stephen,” Cutter whispered. “Lester can’t have anything between you and his power. As soon as he’s done, we have clothing for you to change into.” He nodded to the entrance, where the one named Niall was placing soft linen trousers and a shirt onto the table by the door. 

They moved slowly over the few yards to the chair by the fire. Settling gingerly, with a pained grimace, into the chair, Stephen covered his lap with spread hands, shoulders hunched inwards and eyes on the floor. His face was flushed with embarrassment on top of the pallor of injury and exhaustion. 

“Lester’s ready,” Niall said, backing out with his eyes fixed on the wall behind them rather than Stephen’s unclothed state. “He’ll be right in.”

“Thank you,” Cutter said absently, most of his attention on Stephen. “Stephen, Niall was the man who helped you in the Stone House, when we found you. Remember? He gave you a blanket to cover yourself.” He reached out and touched the point of Stephen’s shoulder, not attempting any closer physical contact than that.

Stephen took a long, shaky breath and nodded. Cutter patted the shoulder he was touching. “Lester’s going to come in now, and he’ll help you. I don’t know what it will involve, and I can’t be touching you whilst he works, but I won’t leave you alone. Is that all right?”

Stephen shuddered, but nodded. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice sounding like he’d been gargling sand.

Cutter reckoned the roughness came from screaming. Loud, long, agonised screams that had torn at Stephen’s vocal cords. He added another log to the pile of his guilt. Shoulders slumped, he turned and called for Lester to enter.

It was the Panther who walked into the room, not Lester the man. He was wearing his mask and his green uniform, with the addition of gloves made of some thin material that looked like silk in a slightly worrying blood-red colour. Stephen cringed back, and Cutter reached out, but managed to stop himself just short of touching him.

“Stephen, he’s here to help,” Cutter murmured, and Stephen shuddered but settled.

The Panther paced forward slowly, allowing Stephen to get used to him. Once facing the chair, less than a metre away, he stopped and Cutter, with one last muttered, “Hang on, Stephen,” stepped back to allow him to work.

“Stephen,” the Panther said, softly but clearly, “I am going to work a spell. Do not be afraid. You will feel a tickling sensation, perhaps a little heat. Nothing that I do will make your injuries worse. You have my word.”

Stephen nodded jerkily, still tucked as far back into the seat as he could get, shoulders hunched and eyes squeezed shut.

The Panther raised his gloved hands and laced them together in front of his heart, in a different pattern from the one he’d used against the Falcon, Christine. Beginning to chant, he moved his fingers in a set pattern, slowly and gently tracing the outline of Stephen’s body over and over as he spoke in time with his movements. The air around him began to glisten, pulsing almost like a heartbeat, and Stephen caught his breath in a sob. Cutter watched, almost unable to believe what he was seeing as the shimmer stretched out to wrap around Stephen, joining him with the Panther in a haze of mottled green and red. They faded out of Cutter’s vision, lost behind the veil of shimmering light, and Cutter had to fight to resist breaking in when Stephen gave a whine of sheer terror as the red faded to a pale green, twining with the darker green mottles.

The Panther’s chant rose and fell, his tone coaxing and gentle now, and Stephen’s whine faded to a slight whimper, then fell silent. Cutter could still hear him breathing, though, first short frantic pants then slower, deeper, calmer breaths as the Panther's chant slowed. The shimmering veil gradually broke into translucent strips and began to dissolve. The Panther lowered his hands and his voice faded to silence, the pulsing slowing, then stopping along with him. The veil contracted until it was absorbed into his body. He swayed.

Cutter stepped forward quickly and braced the Panther’s elbow to help him to a seat, where Lyle, now masked as the Lion, and Abby, in her Tiger regalia, took over to assist him. With a sigh of relief, Cutter turned to Stephen, who was sitting in the chair with a stunned look on his face. He was holding his hands up in front of him, moving them and his feet without wincing. He looked up at Cutter, jaw slack, and held his arms out from his body. Every burn, every cut, every bruise was gone as if it had never existed, and then Stephen was again stroking himself all over as if he couldn’t believe he wasn’t hurting any more. 

“Bloody hell,” Cutter whispered in awe. “Stephen, are you all right?” 

He moved quickly back to his friend and reached out. Stephen suddenly seemed to realise that someone was very close to him and about to touch him, and he jerked back with his features drawn in terror. He curled up in the chair and wrapped his arms around his neck and head in an attempt to protect himself, and Cutter stopped with a jolt.

“I thought that might happen.” It was Lester again, not the Panther, who stood beside Cutter, speaking softly.

“What is it?” Cutter asked in despair. He’d thought Stephen would be healed, damn it.

“I have healed the physical hurt,” Lester said, his face drawn with exhaustion. “Unfortunately, the torture was so harrowing for him that eliminating the pain hasn’t healed the damage to his spirit.” He wrapped Stephen in a blanket, then touched Cutter’s shoulder to draw him away and give the traumatised man some space. 

Cutter spun around to glare at him. “You said you could heal him!”

Lester shook his head. “I said I could heal him physically. This, I can do nothing about. Only time can heal the emotional trauma left from physical torture. Perhaps a very long time.” His grip on Cutter’s shoulder tightened. “Some men never return from the Valley of Pain.”

Eyeing Stephen in horror, Cutter whispered, “Is there nothing that can be done? I - I got him into this mess. I have to fix it.”

Lester’s hand moved down his arm to draw him gently from the room and Cutter went with him, inferring that Lester wanted to talk to him where Stephen couldn’t hear. Once they were in the main room again, Lester sat in the chair at the head of the table and gestured for Cutter to sit beside him.

“I can do one thing. It will not actually heal his damaged spirit, but it will wipe out the trauma,” Lester told him seriously. “I must, however, insist that you think hard about all of the possible ramifications before you ask.”

“All right. What is it?” Cutter sat facing the man and gave him his full attention. He was willing to listen; Lester had, after all, healed Stephen’s terrible physical wounds, leaving not even the slightest of bruises behind.

Lester folded his hands on the table in front of him and frowned at them, his entire manner screaming discomfort. “There is a spell,” he said reluctantly. “It is used with rarity - as in almost never - since the ramifications of its use can be widespread and devastating.” He stopped speaking.

“Go on, man,” Cutter burst out. “Don’t bloody leave me hanging!”

“I can wipe your memories of the last few days,” Lester said softly, seriously, and for the first time his tone contained not even a trace of sarcasm or superiority that Cutter could discern. “It would be best for both of you to receive it, since the spell, especially at first, can be slightly unstable until your new memories strengthen. In other words, if he is the only one who forgets, and something you say inadvertently refers to these last few days, the spell can unravel, and Stephen will remember everything.”

Cutter stared at him. “Good lord,” he whispered.

“Indeed. That would, I am sure, make things much worse,” Lester replied, a slight tinge of sarcasm creeping back in before it was banished by his next words as he explained the procedure. 

Once he was done, he leaned back wearily. “For now, I must rest. If you choose the spell, I will need my strength. Go now, be with your friend tonight, see how he is in the morning. If he is no better, then if you choose, we will take you back to the portal that will send you home, and I will cast the spell there.”

About to stand, Cutter sank back into his chair in a state of shock. “You know how to get us home?” 

Lester smiled. “Of course. We always have. The portal is at the outer edge of the Avian Clan holdings, and based on past history, it should be opening to your world tomorrow afternoon.”

Cutter gaped at him for a moment. They could go home. Really home, if this man could be believed, and Cutter thought he could. Then the thought of home brought something else to mind.

“Ah, that’s why they reckoned they could invade, then,” Cutter muttered, and his mind again stopped in shock. “Damn, if we don’t remember anything, we can’t guard against them!”

Lester shrugged. “The odds of an invasion being mounted without decent intelligence are almost nil. Without you and your Stephen, they won’t cross.”

“You’re sure about that?” Cutter asked sceptically.

“The portal has been opening to various worlds for decades. No one has been willing to chance it.” He glanced over Cutter’s shoulder. “Now, go with Abby. She’ll take you to the kitchens to collect some food for Stephen. Give me your decision in the morning.”

Cutter followed the young woman from the room, a quick glance over his shoulder showing him Lyle placing a platter of food in front of Lester, a hand placed lightly but with familiarity on his shoulder. At least the Panther was being taken care of, too, was Cutter’s thought as the smell of roasting meat and vegetables made his stomach growl.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They return home.

“Make Stephen better,” Cutter said firmly, hoping that Lester was still willing and that the spell would actually work. “He can’t cope with what happened. It was too sudden, too strong, too vicious.” He shook his head. “He’s a brave man, but he wasn’t prepared for anything like that in his life. You mentioned the Valley of Pain,” he said to Lester. “I think he’s lost in it and he can’t find his way out.”

Lester pursed his lips. “You accept the ramifications of this decision?”

“Yes. If it’s true it will remove the memories from the time we learned about the portals, then that’s okay. I - we - can deal with that.”

“It might remove more than that,” Lester warned. “Did you stumble on the portals by accident?”

Cutter hesitated. “Not really. In a way. We were searching for signs of my lost wife when we found the first one.”

Frowning, Lester clasped his hands behind his back. “You might forget why you were searching for her.”

“Will I forget about her?” Cutter asked, shocked.

“No, probably not. Just the particular reason why you started searching then.”

“Huh,” Cutter grunted, searching his memory. Oh. “Damn. We started searching for her that day because Stephen suggested it.”

“In that case, you might forget why he suggested it, and anything that led up to that reason,” Lester warned him.

Cutter grunted again. “That might actually turn out to be a good thing.”

At Lester’s curious expression, he quirked his mouth. “Never mind. Suffice to say it’s a memory I’m not sure I want to keep, anyway.”

Eyes narrow, Lester examined him so searchingly that Cutter wondered if he kept a microscope under his corneas. However, Cutter obviously passed whatever inspection Lester was putting him through, since the Feline Clan leader simply sighed and waved him back to his room. “Prepare for the journey, then. I’ll cast the spell at the portal, and you’ll have four hours after that to get home and to bed. Will that be sufficient?”

A quick calculation later, Cutter nodded. “That should work. We’re three hours away from my house. Oh, wait. Damn. There’s no way of telling if our car - our transport vehicle - is still there. We’ve been gone for what, three days now?” He sat back. “On the other hand, it was a holiday weekend and it’s a normal place for people to leave their cars when they’re rambling, so we may be lucky. If not, then we’ll just have to deal with it.”

“Do you remember how to get to your ‘car’ from the portal?” the one named Lyle asked quietly from behind him.

Cutter nodded, refusing to jump. Blast these people and their silent movements. “It wasn’t more than twenty minutes direct walk from the portal, I think. We meandered a bit, but my sense of direction is pretty good.”

“Right. How about this?” Lyle asked. “We go to the portal, check for your ‘car’, then come back and Lester can cast the spell if it’s there.”

“If it’s not, I’ll go get it and meet you back there the next day,” Cutter added.

Lester nodded. “That sounds sensible. The portal opens to the same world for about two hours at about the same time of day, every fourth day. We leave in an hour. Cutter, this will be hard on Stephen; he’s going to need you to care for him. And when we get to the portal, I will sedate him so he sleeps whilst you are gone. It will do him no good to think you’ve abandoned him, even if it’s for less than an hour.”

“Right.”

Four hours later, the members of the Feline clan stood in front of one of the cloudy portals. Cutter hoped desperately that it was the right one as Lester, now robed and masked as the Panther, kept assuring him it was, but there was only one way to tell. He nodded at the Panther, who placed his hand on Stephen’s back, and before Stephen could even leap in sudden terror at the touch he folded to the ground, cradled carefully by the Leopard, who arranged him comfortably.

Finally believing that they meant no harm, Cutter stepped through with an unmasked Abby beside him. They’d decided that the young woman would probably provoke fewer questions than one of the more warrior-looking men, and she’d indicated her willingness, if not actual eagerness, to accompany him. The two made their way quickly through the Forest to the lay-by where Cutter’s truck should be. They stopped behind a small stand of trees just out of sight of the lay-by, and Cutter took a quick look around the boles and almost sagged in relief. The truck was still there. He slid out from behind the trees and trotted over to it. A quick search under the wheel well rewarded him with the extra key. He shoved it into his pocket and jogged back to Abby.

“Let’s go, lass,” he said happily. “We’re home free.”

She craned around the tree to examine the truck. “What is it?” she asked. “It looks like a wagon, but there’s nothing to pull it.” She frowned at him. “What happened to the animals while you were gone?”

Cutter chuckled. “It’s a machine. No animals, just a machine.”

She eyed him dubiously, but then shrugged. “Okay. Doesn’t matter. This is your world, not mine. Let’s go.”

Half an hour later, Cutter stood beside the portal holding a still slightly woozy Stephen up. “I might need someone to help me get him to the truck,” he said reluctantly. “I could get him there, but it might end up taking too long.”

The Lion stepped forward beside the Panther. “I’ll help.”

The Panther shook his head. “I’m going to need your strength for myself,” he said. “Ocelot, Stephen has accepted your proximity twice now. Are you willing to go into this other world? I will not order it.”

The Ocelot’s voice sounded as if he was giving a lazy grin. “Well, it didn’t eat Tiger, so I don’t see any reason why I should have any problems. Sure, I’ll help.”

“Thanks,” Cutter said, hoping his sincerity was sounding through his tone.

They made their preparations and stepped through, some of the Feline Clan members looking as if they were holding their breaths as they passed between the floating shards, then drooping a bit as the place they entered looked almost exactly like the place they had just come from.

The Panther gave his people a couple of minutes to look around, then said, “Clan, attend.”

Everyone immediately gave him their full attention, including Cutter and as much as he seemed capable, Stephen.

“I am about to perform a delicate spell. There must be no interruptions at all. I will require you to guard at 100 yards from this space. No matter what, no person or animal larger than a squirrel can be allowed to get past you. Caracal, cross back, please. You shall be our rear guard. No one else can come through the portal until Lion gives you the all-clear.”

There was a chorus of acceptance, and the Panther nodded in satisfaction. “Clan, take your positions.”

Cutter turned to watch the Lion, who was in turn watching as the Clan members dispersed into the forest, making almost no sound and brushing almost no branches as they passed. The Lion nodded in satisfaction before giving his full attention to his leader. 

The Panther was pacing out two overlapping circles, making sure they were the same size and perfectly round. Once he was satisfied, he drew various symbols around and through the circles with both his finger and some coloured sands he carried in his pouch. Stepping back, he examined his work carefully, and adjusted one curl of one line by what Cutter estimated was less than a centimetre. The professor was starting to get nervous. If this ‘spell’ required such perfection, he just hoped desperately that the Panther wasn’t susceptible to hay fever or coughing fits. 

“I am ready,” the Panther stated, making Cutter jump, which in turn made Stephen start shaking. 

“Sorry, Stephen, it’s all right,” Cutter muttered. “I wasn’t paying attention.” He rubbed his hand up and down the arm he was holding, and Stephen relaxed a little.

“What do we do?” Cutter asked the Panther.

“Step into the far Circle and stand still, side by side,” he was told calmly. “Do not, whatever you do, rub out or interfere with any of the lines I have made.”

Cutter nodded and urged Stephen over to the Circle, making sure to step across the line with an exaggerated lift of his foot, and cueing Stephen to do the same. Once they were there, in the exact centre of the Circle, the Panther paced over to them and examined their position and the lines in the dirt with great care.

“Very good,” the Panther said, and his voice had developed a little bit of a growl. “Now, I begin.” He prowled back to the rear of the other circle and nodded at the Lion. 

Both of them stepped across into the second circle at the same time, and the Panther moved to the front, facing Cutter and Stephen with the Lion standing directly behind him, hands bracing his hips. Cutter wondered idly whether it was to give him power, or to hold him up if he started to fold. Maybe it was both. But in reality, it didn’t matter. They were about to start. He closed his eyes and held Stephen’s hand. Having watched the Panther perform his spells twice now, he really didn’t feel the need to see what was happening this time.

He could hear, though. And feel. Even with his eyes closed he knew there was a green haze wrapping both him and Stephen. A green haze that felt like a warm cashmere blanket, soft but compelling. His ears noted the rise and fall of a chant, words timed perfectly with the waves of heat that washed up and down their bodies over and over again, an insistent desire - no, an insistent need - to accept what was being requested of him. He fought automatically, the stubbornness nurtured over years and decades of searching for and working his way to a top place in what many considered to be an odd and even useless branch of science keeping him from succumbing easily to the siren call. The chant became more demanding. He fought, harder and harder until the demand softened to a request. At that point, he remembered, somehow, deep inside, what he was trying to do - he wanted to lose those memories. He wanted to drop them off a cliff and bury them in the sand at the base. He wanted back the life he’d had before he found out about Helen’s infidelity. About Stephen’s mistake. He did. He wanted that, and this pressure could give it to him.

He gave in. 

The world washed green and gold around him. Stephen’s heartbeat pulsed through his arteries, and his own breath filled Stephen’s lungs. They flew above their bodies, still joined by their clasped hands, and everything spun around them until Cutter was so dizzy he thought he might faint. 

The world steadied. They settled back into their bodies. Cutter gasped and almost fell, only able to keep his feet because Stephen’s weakness made it necessary. The green wall between him and the world tattered, breaking apart like fog on a sunny day. 

Finally, it was done. They stood, hands clasped, in front of the Panther and his Lion.

The Panther’s chant was in its final iteration, soft and slow, and his hands unfolded like the wings of a newly hatched butterfly. He staggered a bit and the Lion caught him, holding him upright until he could catch his balance. His arms dropped to his sides and his eyes met Cutter’s through the holes in his mask.

“It is done. Once the Circle is broken you will have four hours before the spell becomes active. At that point, you will most likely pass out for at least six hours, so you had best be home by then, and in bed if possible.”

Cutter waited until the Panther broke the lines between their two Circles and waved them forward into his own, then followed as the Panther exited his circle with the Lion falling in place behind him and Stephen.

They stood by the Circles and watched as a greenish shimmer emerged from the Panther’s palms and the earth and twigs in the clearing lifted as if by a gust of wind, fluttered back and forth, then wafted down to cover the entire area they’d used.

The Panther removed his mask, and Lester looked at them. “Thank you for your trust, gentlemen,” he said with a bow. “I do hope your lives will be lived well.” He gave a slight grin. “And perhaps I should also say that I hope I will not see you again. It will be safer for both our worlds if this portal is never again breached.”

Cutter nodded. “I agree. Thank you, Lester. Panther. You and your people have been more help than I could have ever asked. Good fortune to you.” 

He bowed, not feeling odd doing so at all, turned and led a still compliant Stephen away without a backward look. He knew, somehow, that he could trust the Feline Clan to not take advantage of him or his world.

Three and a half hours later, he pulled into his driveway and gently touched Stephen’s shoulder to wake his sleeping student. 

“Come on, lad, let’s get inside,” he said calmly as Stephen jumped and pulled away, suddenly awake and, to Cutter’s sadness, suddenly terrified again.

The student followed him obediently inside, though, and Cutter chivvied him up the stairs and into the spare room, where he disrobed and climbed under the duvet without argument.

Following Lester’s suggestion, Cutter took the clothing Stephen had been wearing, and his own, and dumped them into his neighbour’s garbage bin so there would be no way that the sight of the unusual garments could jog their memories. Luckily Stephen had stayed over enough times that he had a spare outfit on hand.

Cutter yawned. Based on the time, they would most likely sleep until morning. He headed to bed, and his head barely touched the pillow before he was unconscious.

Epilogue

Cutter yawned as he stumbled into the kitchen to put the kettle on. He stared at the old photo album that was sitting on the kitchen counter instead of in its usual spot in the bookcase in the sitting room. 

Shaking his head without really caring, he flipped the switch to start the kettle and popped the album back into its usual space. Stephen would be waking up in a few minutes and would want some tea. He always did first thing in the morning, especially after they’d stayed up late, Stephen ostensibly working on his dissertation, but in actuality helping Cutter grade first-year papers.

As soon as he’d poured hot water over teabags in three cups, Stephen stumbled down the steps, yawning. 

“Bloody hell, that must have been a late night, Professor,” Stephen muttered, shaking his head. He blinked at Cutter a few times, then zeroed in on the tea. “Tea? Now?” he asked plaintively. “My head feels fuzzy.”

Cutter finished preparing the cup and shoved it over to him, upon which Stephen practically inhaled the liquid inside it. Grinning, Cutter traded the empty one out for the full extra one, and took a sip from his own. Once Stephen was outside that second cup, he finally looked at Cutter with a grin. “Good morning,” he said sheepishly.

Cutter laughed, very glad he had Stephen in his life. Having his student around made the loss of Helen just that little bit more bearable. Perhaps he should offer Stephen that new post as his Laboratory Technician when it opens up next term…

End


End file.
